


How Many Fingers

by Liung_Arkeanda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AKA canon seemed to think that everyone could just continue their lives without massive trauma, But maybe an optimistic ending?, Gen, Happily lack of consent and Kate’s everything is not a concern here, Kate doesn’t make an appearance, Mentions of canon character death, People think Stiles and Jackson should Bond Over Shared Trauma, People want Stiles to Talk About His Feelings, Season 3 aftermath, Shocking I know but I think the Nogitsune has easily managed to compensate for her absence, So despite this being a hurt/comfort Teen Wolf fic with a buttload of warnings, Stiles is really Not Okay, Stiles thinks People should Piss Off, Unreliable Narrator, Which is sort of the point of this fic, exploration of headcanon about the Nogitsune possession, no happy ending, post-season 3, spoilers for Season 2 & 3, tw: depiction of PTSD, tw: depiction of panic attack, tw: discussions and depictions of psychosis, tw: discussions of loss of bodily autonomy, tw: mentions of thoughts of self-harm, tw: semi-graphic depictions of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liung_Arkeanda/pseuds/Liung_Arkeanda
Summary: In the aftermath of the Nogitsune, Stiles is a mess. When his dad insists on Stiles talking to Ms Morrell, she seems to think that Stiles can bond with Jackson, of all people, over their 'shared trauma'.It doesn't go well.~*~So why is Stiles talking to him, Jackson wants to know. Did Stiles try to toss his humanity to join the cool kids? Screw it up? Turn into some kind of slime monster on the full moon?Stiles barks out a laugh at that. He thinks he might have preferred some slow, brainless slime monsters. Instead of the quick, clever, goddamn foxes.Oh? Jackson grins, Stiles became a fox?That sobers him up quick, and he can tell by the shock on Jackson's face that his own is doing something disturbing."No," Stiles rasps. "A fox became me."





	How Many Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags for possible trigger warnings, and know that while I have done my best, the warnings may not be exhaustive. If in doubt, please enlist a prereader, or give this fic a pass. Don't risk your health and well-being, and take care of yourselves <3

The Nogitsune is gone, but Stiles is irrevocably changed—but for better or worse, he doesn't know. The incessant nightmares, those are always fun. The crippling guilt, even _more_ so. Throw in some paranoia—can he still read? How many fingers does he have? Is Scott still alive? Is his _dad_ still alive?—a few flashbacks—anything restricting his motion and Stiles is trapped in his own body again, watching his hands sow destruction and hearing his mouth spew poison—but he's taking it day by day, Stiles is _fine_ , really Dad, it's fine, he's okay.

(Stiles is not fine. Stiles is not okay.)

For the most part, the others leave him alone. They have their own aftermath to sort through, their own trauma to deal with. The pack, which was finally coming together, has once again been thrown into turmoil, completely destabilized. There's a hole in their midst, a hole in their hearts, bleeding and raw at the edges.

(An Allison-shaped hole.)

There is a wound in Stiles' heart, too, but it's not a hole. There's a dagger of blame stuck through his heart, and he can't pull it out.

(It's an Allison-shaped dagger, and he deserves to have it there.)

~*~

When he still refuses to leave his room after a week, his dad finally persuades him to get help.

This time, that help is Ms Morrell.

(Stiles wishes it was Eichen House again. One could make a compelling case he never should have left.)

Morrell sits primly on a chair next to his bed and tries to get him to talk, but Stiles doesn't say much. She wants him to tell her how he _feels_. He turns away from her, pulls up the blankets and sometimes hides his head under his pillow.

Stiles couldn't tell her even if he wanted to, has no idea how he _feels_ , not just because there's just _too much_ all together, mashed up in his head so full he's overflowing with grief and fear and guilt and anger worry sadness dread blamehateterror _anguishpainalone **delightsatisfactiongleePRIDE**_

but also because he can't trust himself anymore, can't ever be certain that what he feels is what _he_ feels—

Morrell has him call up Jackson.

Jackson _Whittemore_.

"No way," Stiles stammers, so startled he sits up in bed, "Are you nuts?"

She believes it will help, Morrell tells him, to talk to someone who can empathize.

"Jackson Whittemore," Stiles says flatly, "can _empathize_. With _me_. This is a thing you think can happen."

She nods solemnly.

Stiles slowly brings up his hands, fingers spread. "Okay, Ms Morrell," he says slowly, "I want you to count the fingers with me. One... Tw—"

Stiles, Morrell says sternly, and orders him to take the laptop and call.

(Not like he has anything better to do.)

Stiles hits call.

Doop doo-doop doo-doop doop, Skype beeps out, and starts ringing.

Keep ringing, Stiles wishes, feverishly picking at his comforter. Don't pick up, don't pick up, for once in your sorry life do me a solid and don't—

Jackson picks up.

(Typical.)

Stiles eyes the Jackson-dominated computer screen suspiciously. On the other side of the world, Jackson clearly does the same.

It's a little comforting, Stiles thinks, that despite the mutual staring, there's no eye contact. They may be staring at each other, but because of the video call they both look like they're slightly averting their eyes. Even if Jackson looked directly at his camera, so that his eyes met Stiles', in reality he _wouldn't_ be looking at Stiles at all, but the camera lens.

It's a little more impersonal than actually talking face to face, Stiles realizes, puts a little more distance between them.

(Because the _Atlantic_ isn't distance enough?)

(But it's not Jackson he wants at a distance in this conversation, really.)

(Though probably one of them needs to say something for it to be a conversation, first.)

(Neither of them says something.)

It's good of him to agree to talk to Stiles, Morrell says finally. Jackson's a good friend.

Stiles eyes her in disbelief. On the other side of the screen, on the other side of the ocean, so does Jackson.

Stiles slowly starts to raise his hands, again, fingers spread wide. Morrell shoots him a warning look, and he holds them up in a pacifying gesture instead.

Yeah, Jackson drawls, anything for his good friend Stilinski. Morrell shoots him a look too.

Jackson says he heard from Lydia that Beacon Hills developed a fox infestation.

"Yeah," Stiles says with a hollow laugh, "you could say that."

Is he gonna explain how that turned into the school counsellor setting up this little playdate? Jackson asks archly.

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. "Well," he says, "what else have you heard?"

Jackson hums thoughtfully and replies that he heard that some crazy ancient fox lady tried to tear up the town, to find the crazy evil fox dude trying to blow up the town.

"Simplified but true," Stiles says hoarsely. "And?"

And he heard people got hurt, Jackson says more seriously. The hospital. Finstock. The deputies. And, he hesitates, and he'd been told about Allison.

Stiles just nods mutely, studies the comforter bunched beneath the laptop. He can't even look at the screen. Peripherally he can see Jackson doing the same.

(Not for the same reasons, of course.)

Jackson waits a moment in respectful silence before speaking again.

So why is Stiles talking to him, Jackson wants to know. Did Stiles try to toss his humanity to join the cool kids? Screw it up? Turn into some kind of slime monster on the full moon?

Stiles barks out a laugh at that. He thinks he might have preferred some slow, brainless slime monsters. Instead of the quick, clever, goddamn _foxes_.

Oh? Jackson grins, Stiles became a fox?

That sobers him up quick, and he can tell by the shock on Jackson's face that his own is doing something disturbing.

"No," Stiles rasps. "A fox became me."

~*~

Stiles tries to clam up after that, but Morrell doesn't let him. Between her prompting and Jackson being deliberately obnoxious and obtuse, they drag most of the story out of him.

He tries to answer only the questions they ask him, as dispassionately as possible. He doesn't volunteer anything.

Sadly, Jackson has always known just how to get under his skin. Before he knows it, Stiles can feel his blood boiling with anger at the douchebag's smug, superior attitude. He's out of bed, pacing angrily back and forth in front of the laptop now resting on his desk.

"So some psycho took your body for a joy ride," Jackson sneers. "You think you're such a special little snowflake, Stilinski?"

"Fuck off, asshole, it wasn't the same," Stiles snaps back.

"Not from where I'm standing," he retorts. "You were forced to hurt people without knowing it. Big whoop."

"Big _whoop_? You total hypocrite, that shit messed you up too, knowing someone used your body like a fucking puppet, having all that blood on your hands—"

"Literal blood on my _literal hands_ , dipshit, I grew fucking _claws_ , what could someone do with _your_ body, flail at someone until they die of embarrassment?"

"Oh, you did _not_ just—your master was some teenage _punk_ , I was being _possessed_ by an age-old _fucking embodiment of fucking evil_! That _thing_ killed more people than

(fuck, this is so childish, Stiles knows it's childish as he's doing it, screaming at his laptop, Jackson's somehow turned this into some kind of fucking _contest_ , let's compare their trauma to see which is bigger what the actual _fuck_ are they doing)

so don't you _dare_ sit on a fucking high horse about the fucking _literal blood_ of Matt's victims on your hands, I held Coach's stomach closed while he bled out from the trap I set, I fucking _stabbed Scott_ with these hands! I _built the fucking bomb_ that nearly killed _my dad_ —"

"No you _didn't_ , asshole! The Naggy-soony thing did! Fuck, do you know how many times I had people fucking tell me, 'It's not your fault, Jackson, you weren't in control, Jackson, you didn't choose to hurt anyone, Jackson,'—hell, once or twice that person was _you_ , loser!"

" _It's not the same_!" Stiles screeches, hands clenched so tight they hurt, "You don't _know_ , you weren't _there_ —"

"And neither were you, dipshit," Jackson grits out, "Neither of us were in our own _fucking_ heads! We didn't know what we were doing, we didn't contribute to the pain our bodies caused, we didn't want to hurt those people, we didn't enjoy our little foray into ultraviolence—"

"YES I DID!" Stiles bellows. "YES I DID, YES I DID, I WAS THERE, I SAW AND I KNEW AND I HELPED AND I _FUCKING LIKED IT_!"

With a roar, Stiles turns and punches his window, so hard the glass breaks. The shards cut his hand, and he receives more cuts as he pulls it back through the jagged hole.

Blood streams down his arm in rivulets. He watches it with detached fascination. It doesn't hurt at all. Shouldn't it hurt?

He hears Morrell make a muffled noise,

(Morrell? When did she get back? When did she leave? Was she there the whole time?)

but he can't tell if it's shock or concern

(or maybe horror)

and really can't bring himself to care. He lifts his other hand and probes curiously at one of the glass shards he can see embedded in his arm _Stilinski what the fuck are you doing_ and it still doesn't hurt, and maybe

(maybe it's a dream)

he should be concerned, it really should hurt, because there's a lot of blood, but _Stiles can you look at me please_ when he looks up to try and find something to

(try and make it hurt, you can wake up if you)

staunch the bleeding, maybe, he sees the papers on his walls, the papers _Ms Morrell do something go get his dad_ with the letters arranged like at the optometrist's office, so you can have your eyesight tested, letters

(to see them first thing in the morning, read the letters and _read the letters and_ )

arranged on the paper to read but he can't read them, the shapes are _in here Sheriff quick there's so much blood we need to stop the bleeding_ swimming before his eyes and oh god he can't READ and it's going to

(no stop please don't HURT THEM DON'T MAKE ME HURT THEM PLEASE NO)

happen all over again while he's _I've got him Marin get that glass out while I hold him_ still helpless to stop it, can't move his body can't throw him off trapped bound just along for the ride

(HURT ME INSTEAD TAKE ME INSTEAD JUST NOT MY DAD ANYONE ELSE PLEASE)

watching hearing feeling as the void inside him _just a bit more Sheriff the glass is gone_ feeds on the chaos he sows and enjoys it, savouring every delicious drop and taunting him with it, torturing

(YES IT'S GOOD it's good, I like it, I want more, okay, not Dad, please not him, it's delicious, I admit it, I want more, I'll help you get more, I'll stop fighting you, what do you want to know I can help so just PLEASE DON'T TAKE)

him so there is delicious chaos inside and out, and he's terrified and satisfied and gleeful and sobbing and laughing and _Stiles look at my hands son grab my fingers if you have to just count with me_ the line is _one_ so blurry, is it _two_ him in charge or _three_ is it him, _four_ who's creating _five_ the next disaster, _six_ all he can do _seven_ is look at the hands _eight_ in front of him and count _nine_ the fingers and pray that there's only

( _ **Ten.**_ )

He's awake?

Ow.

Stiles is awake and

(my arm hurts)

his arm kinda hurts, which sucks sure but is also amazing

(thank god)

because his arm hurts but

(I can't taste it)

he can feel it and it feels bad, it doesn't feel good, he doesn't enjoy it

(it isn't delicious)

pain should never feel good and should not have a taste and

(I DON'T want more)

just because he will always know how good someone's mortal pain tasted

(don't care if it's delicious)

doesn't mean he wants to hurt someone to get more.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he sobs into the shoulder that's keeping him from collapsing entirely. "I never wanted to hurt anyone..."

He knows, his dad assures him, squeezing him tight. He believes him.

~*~

Stiles thinks Morrell might have dosed him with something, he thinks woozily, but can't bring himself to care. His dad is still holding him, cradling Stiles against his chest as he sits on the floor with his back resting against the bed. It brings to mind way back when Stiles was small enough to crawl into his parents' laps whenever he wanted, trying hard to keep still and not fidget.

(Stilinski men give the best hugs, his parents always told him. But he thinks Stilinski women gave pretty great hugs, too. He misses those hugs.)

Stiles feels his dad smooth a hand over his hair and squeeze him a little tighter. Clearly this idea of being too old to cuddle with his parents has got to go, because this feeling of being enveloped, safe and loved by his dad, is finally allowing him to relax.

(Bonus: his ear is placed just right to hear the slow, steady thumping of his dad's heart. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. He's-safe. A-live.)

The arms around him squeeze again, and Stiles allows himself to drift off a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> I found Dylan O'Brien's portrayal of Nogitsune!Stiles incredibly compelling, and thinking of the ramifications of the events of that season—Stiles loves his dad above all things, and the Nogitsune nearly killed him with Stiles' own body! Chills. And I really wanted to explore the potential headcanons I had surrounding what Stiles experienced while possessed—was he aware of what was going on? How did the Nogitsune ensure compliance? A creature feeding off chaos and fear and pain would of course be creating it within its host as well, and to coerce Stiles into contributing to the chaos would be the greatest torture of all. 
> 
> I started writing this as... I hesitate to call it a fix-it, but basically it really bothered me that Season 4 showed the characters for the most part not really affected by the Season 3 finale. So I wanted to rewrite Season 4 with the characters actually struggling with their trauma and the consequences of what happened... starting primarily with Stiles. I wanted a hurt/comfort fic where the other characters actually acknowledged what Stiles had been through, and supported him.
> 
> It was supposed to be an enormously long, multichapter fic, and I got this far pretty much in one bout of inspired writing before I stopped. Then the show got weird and I got distracted and this got shelved. I stopped watching the show sometime mid-season 5, and never really got up the enthusiasm to continue.
> 
> But I also at that time was new to writing fanfiction as opposed to original fiction, and still had the mindset that any story I wrote had to be a full-length epic. I'm still trying to reconcile the idea that fanfiction I write can be just small ideas, short drabbles exploring a plot-bunny and not necessarily trying to write a whole novel around a single thought. And in going back through my writing files... I think that this piece stands alone as a fleshed-out thought. I don't have to write out the entire process for us to know, at the end, that while Stiles isn't okay, he will be. He's going to get the help he needs. It's like an episode of Law & Order: the credits run when the outcome is clear, even if not all the loose ends have been tied in a nice bow.
> 
> As an aside, by dint of a psychology degree I like to imagine I have something of an educated understanding of the workings of the mind, but I thankfully have not ever suffered violent trauma or PTSD myself; and while I've experienced panic attacks I've not experienced firsthand the disassociation, psychosis, and flashbacks that I have portrayed Stiles as experiencing. I welcome constructive criticism of all my writing, and especially I am open to discussion if a reader feels that I have misrepresented mental trauma and illness.
> 
> And please, please tell me if I am missing any trigger warnings. I tried to tag appropriately, but I'm sure I missed things. Take care of yourselves, everyone.


End file.
